


Two Rounds and a Jog

by givesamapuppy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Smut, sweaty sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givesamapuppy/pseuds/givesamapuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Sam come back from your morning run and the endorphins lead to sweaty sex and shower shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Rounds and a Jog

“I can’t believe you guys actually _jog_ ”

Dean’s lying on the motel bed, giving you and Sam a look of disgust and horror as you stand catching your breath after your morning run. 

“It’s fun, Dean, and healthy,” you respond. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”   
He takes an incredulous bite of his mid-morning burger and mumbles out what sounds something like “You’re all gross and sweaty.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, exercise tends to do that.” 

“Well I don’t wanna smell it. Go take a shower.” 

Before they get into a full on bitch-off you roll your eyes and grab Sam by the elbow, pulling him through the connecting door to your adjacent motel room and making sure to call over your shoulder to Dean to save you a burger.  

“Alright,” you say, peeling off your tank top once you’re in the room, “we’d better make this quick, I think I’ve got a lead on a case and I told the coroner we’d be there by 2.” You kick your running shoes off and chuck them somewhere in the vicinity of the closet, and when you straighten back up Sam’s hands are on your upper arms and you feel the heat of his chest on your back.  

You turn around, heart already speeding even though it hadn’t even returned to a normal pace yet after your run. Sam’s just looking at you with those damn puppy eyes, bits of sweaty hair falling into his face and eyebrows knit together. He doesn’t need to say anything, you feel it too, all the endorphins from running tend to get you two a little…riled up, which has been a bit of a problem on the road where you don’t have much in the way of privacy.  

“Sam…Dean’s in the next room…”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s an impatient strain in his voice and he shifts around. You can still see his heartbeat in the uneven rise and fall of his broad chest. “We could turn on some music?”

You think back to the previous day, and how every time you turned on the radio it would be followed by a groan and a “Seriously? Again?” from the next room. “…I think Dean may have caught on to that a while ago.” 

Sam’s eyes are fixated a few degrees south of yours, now, on the sheen of sweat on your chest and neck, and you see his jaw twitch with the effort of staying six inches away. He forces his eyes back to yours and licks his lips, making them glisten even more pretty and pink than usual, and now it’s you who’s having trouble with eye contact as he leans an inch closer and whispers, “I’ll be quiet, promise” in a hopeful tone. When you finally manage to look away from his lips you regret it because his eyes are so close and they’re pleading, with a hint of mischief as well, and the runner’s high buzzing through your body is doing absolutely nothing for your decision-making capabilities. 

“Babe, you’re not the one I’m worried about being quiet.” 

Sam’s too restless now to keep his hands completely to himself and he grabs your waist, fingertips pressing in to the flushed skin and thumb stroking along your ribcage as it rises and falls rapidly, like your body thinks you’re still engaged in athletic activity and you still need all the oxygen you can get.  

Suddenly you have an idea, and you feel like a genius at the moment and also and idiot for not thinking of it sooner. “Oh! The shower! The shower!” Your hand flies to his shoulder and he doesn’t really seem like he’s catching your drift but he nods and says “right, the shower, yeah,” before bending down and attaching his mouth to your neck. 

You pat at his shoulder, trying to get his attention—or, trying to get a different kind of his attention. “We can do it in the shower, cause the water—oh!” You can’t quite finish your sentence due to Sam’s lips and tongue and teeth nipping and laving at your collar bone. 

You pull at Sam’s t-shirt, working the damp and clinging material up over his head, only for the purpose of getting in the shower, of course. You lay both hands flat on his stomach and start pushing him backwards towards the bathroom, but you’re momentarily distracted by the jump and twitch of his abs under your palms and a suddenly very strong desire to taste the sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat, which gives Sam the opportunity to change your trajectory and the next thing you know he’s sitting down heavily on the foot of the bed and pulling you onto his lap, grabbing your thighs to maneuver your knees on either side of his hips.  

“Sam,” you chide, “I’m all sticky and gross.” 

He merely tightens his grip on you, his massive hands managing to wrap ridiculously far around your thighs, strong fingers pressing down on the nylon of your running leggings. “Not gross,” he mumbles hot and damp into your skin, and moves a hand up to splay against the small of your back and pull you forward. You instinctively grind down on him, the flimsy material of his sweats letting you feel the full hardened length of his cock right where you need it. You swallow back a moan and grind down harder, and Sam bites at your neck before flipping you over like you weigh about as much as a Thanksgiving turkey so that you’re on your back on the bed. He’s lying next to you, pressed against your side, propped up on one elbow while the other hand flies to your hip and he starts laying enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses on your stomach, starting just above your navel and moving up to just below your sports bra. 

You manage to puff out a breathy laugh. “You’re not going to _lick_ me clean, are you?”

Sam smiles against you and you immediately follow with “That’s not a challenge!” because you’re not sure you could actually survive that. 

His mouth travels lower, lips brushing back and forth against the skin along the waist of your leggings, tickling you and making you jump involuntarily. The gentle brush turns to purposeful kisses laid side by side from hipbone to hipbone and his hand tightens on your hip, holding you in place when you start to squirm.  

“Babe,” you say, breathless, bringing a hand down to tug at his hair, “come ‘ere.” He allows you to guide him to your mouth and kisses you hungrily, nudging your lips apart insistently so that he can lick into your mouth. His tongue trails a burning path wherever he can reach, sending your head spinning with his intoxicating taste. While you’re thoroughly distracted, Sam slides his hand from your hip and slips it under the waistband of your leggings and in your panties in one movement. 

It’s a good thing your mouth is occupied with Sam’s, because otherwise the startled moan you let out when two of Sam’s fingers sink into you would be a whole lot louder. You try to focus on keeping quiet, which is proving quite difficult when your attention is being tugged to the exquisite friction of Sam’s long fingers stroking at your inner walls. 

Sam breaks away from your mouth, his lips shining wet and hanging open as he pants, breathing out a barely-voiced “Fuck, so hot.” You press your lips hard together and nuzzle your face in the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his sweaty and musky but morning-fresh scent. You want to remind him about the shower, but opening your mouth at this point would probably prove too dangerous, so you keep it shut and concentrate on minimizing the writhing of your hips so they don’t make the bed creak.  

Clearly, Sam needs some relief, seeing as he’s been not-so-subtly rubbing against the side of your thigh this whole time. You know he would gladly finish you off on his fingers and do nothing about his massive erection, giving his partner please is more than half the fun to him anyway, but you want him inside you and you want to see his face when he comes so you tap him on the shoulder. 

Sam’s fingers still and he meets your eyes, eyebrows raised. 

“Flip over,” you whisper, motioning to the side with your head, “it’ll be quieter.” 

He nods, pulling his fingers out gingerly before rolling over and scooting up the bed so his back is leaning up against the headboard. “Might want to take this opportunity to finish de-robing,” you suggest, and Sam smirks, moving to pull down his sweats and boxers nonetheless.

“If you wanted my pants off so bad, you could’ve just asked,” he quips. 

You shush him and attempt a glare before taking off your leggings and boxers and struggling to remove your sweaty sports bra. You hear Sam chuckle under his breath while you contort yourself to get the damn thing over your head, but when you finally succeed and throw it on the growing pile of clothes near the closet you see Sam without a trace of amusement on his face. His eyes are shining with barely restrained lust and his stance is stiff, his muscles twitching, poised to strike. You indulge yourself a moment of watching his throat work as he swallows and his chest heave as he breathes. Suddenly it occurs to you that it’s been far too long since you’ve been skin-to-skin so you stop your staring and straddle Sam’s hips. 

Before your knee even hits the mattress beside him Sam’s hands are back on you, skating along your sides, over your breasts, tangling in your hair. Sam’s cock is trapped between you, and you’re rocking into him absentmindedly as you run your hands over the impossibly broad expanse of his chest and abdomen beneath you, loving the way his muscles jump involuntarily when you just barely brush the flushed skin with teasing fingertips. 

You would love to take your time, but the tension between you two has been suffocating thick ever since you stepped in from your jog and right now you crave him far more than your throat craves water or your lungs crave air, so you cut to the chase, lifting yourself up before positioning him and sinking down onto his length. 

You both bite your lower lips simultaneously to hold in your sounds of pleasure, which would make you laugh and tease Sam about spending too much time together if you were that in sync if it weren’t for the moan dancing on the tip of your tongue. 

It takes no time at all for a rhythm to develop between you that maximizes pleasure for both of you. You can’t go particularly fast and hard due to sound constraints, but each stroke ends with a roll of your hips calculated to maximize the friction of your clit grinding into Sam’s pubic bone, and soon the pleasure mounting low in your belly has your already-fatigued muscles trembling. You collapse forwards on to Sam’s chest, finding the strength to continue the pointed writhing of your hips but with Sam now providing most of the up and down movement. 

The pleasure spreads, soaking into your sore limbs, infecting your skin with a pervasive tingle, somehow seeping into your bones, and putting your mind in a haze. Your chest slides against Sam’s easily, both of you slick with sweat. You mouth is on him, what part of him you don’t really know or care, but the skin is salty and hot and familiar. Sam is breath is coming in shaky puffs next to your ear. If you could manage to lift your head, you know his eyes would be clenched shut and his nose wrinkled in a hint of a snarl. 

You both come silently, which is quite a feat, really, one you wish you had someone to brag to about. You’re both limp, catching your breath, and Sam lifts you up and pulls out of you before you collapse back on his chest. Instead of moving immediately, you stay sprawled on top of Sam for what is intended to be only a minute, but you find yourself so loose and sated that you’re practically melting into him. Sam, apparently, is in the same situation because his arms grow heavy on your back and his breathing slows as you both fall into a blissful post-coital nap. 

You wake up to the feeling of Sam rubbing small circles into your back, and you lift your head enough to see his dimpled smile. As pleasant a sight as that is, you grimace at the prospect of moving from your current position; you feel so sticky you think you might actually be glued together.

“Shit,” you sigh.

“What?”

“Note to self: sex, while awesome, increases need for shower tenfold.”

Sam laughs as you roll off of him and flop yourself down on the bed, arms and legs spread out in a star formation. He glances at the clock, which now reads 1:32. “Hey, didn’t you say we were supposed to meet the coroner at 2?” 

You throw an arm over your eyes dramatically and groan. “I forgot. Thanks to you, mister.” 

You feel Sam get up off the bed, and peek under your arm to see him looking at you expectantly. 

“Can’t we just get Dean to go?” you whine. 

“No,” Sam says, and holds out a hand to you. “Come on.” 

You stare at him, refusing to budge. After a moment he gives up and just reaches across the bed, grabbing you around the waist and tucking you under his arm as he carries you into the bathroom and puts you down in the shower.  

“You know, I should just have you carry me everywhere. It’s much easier than walking.” 

You let out a deep sigh as the water hits your back, running down your body and taking the morning’s accumulated sweat with it. It’s refreshing, even though it’s hot, and it sooths the ache in your muscles with gentle pressure. Before long, your body settles into a pleasant hum as you relax and the endorphins from the run and the sex start to circulate. You and Sam switch places back and forth, rinsing off the first layer of grime and then soaping up.

You watch as Sam washes his hair, taking a moment to appreciate the roll of his back muscles as he scrubs in shampoo and the way the water streams down in little rivulets along the dips of his back. Stepping up behind him, you start to wash his back, scrubbing every inch with careful attendance to the way little droplets form beads on his skin. Sam freezes in the middle of rinsing the suds out of his hair when you begin placing kisses in the path of the washcloth, alternating between washing and kissing the slightly pink skin left behind.  

“What are you doing?” he asks, trying his best to sound casual despite the suddenly renewed husky tone in his voice. 

You hum and nuzzle between his shoulder blades. “What do you think?” 

“I thought you were exhausted.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of the revitalizing powers of a shower?” 

Snaking your arm around Sam’s waist and pressing yourself against his back, you begin to wash his front. You start at his chest, and he hisses when you deliberately brush his nipples before working your way down the ridges of his abdomen, then his hipbones, before sliding a hand down to cup his balls gently. Sam’s head bows and his shoulders tense as you tease him, massaging with your fingertips and making sure not to touch his rapidly hardening cock. 

After a moment of enjoying the gritted-teeth noises you were pulling out of him, you wrap your hand around his cock, which is hot and solid in your grasp. Sam’s hand comes back and closes in a vice-like grip on your upper thigh, holding on to you while you begin to pump him lazily, peering around his massive frame and watching his cock twitch, noticing how the thick shaft makes your fingers look so small and delicate. All thoughts of showering quickly flee as your mouth begins to water and your hyper-relaxed muscles start to tingle as they regain interest in the situation. You give a quick kiss to his shoulder blade before removing your hand and nudging his waist to signal him to turn around, which he does, back now to the water. He gives a choked noise when he sees you sinking to your knees and immediately winds a hand into your hair, his large palm cradling your head gently. You place your hands on his hips, just below the sharp v of his hipbones, mostly to anchor yourself, but also because you like the feeling of the tendons there flexing as he struggles to keep his hips still.  

The groan Sam makes when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock seems to vibrate through your body, and you take him in deeper while shuffling closer, wanting more skin on skin than you currently have. You flatten your tongue and rub it along the underside of his shaft as you bob, then pull back so you can suck lightly at his head and give little kitten licks at his slit. You savor the tangy taste of his precome and the salty taste of the skin. Sam’s hand is tighter in your hair now, and when you glance over at his forearm you see it flexed, with a vein visible under the thin skin. From there you look up through wet eyelashes to his faces, wrenched in pleasure and concentration. His mouth falls open in a “Fuck, babe,” and you bring a hand to his arm, patting it in silent permission and encouragement for him to direct your head. You relax your throat and take him as deep as you can, holding the position until he finally uses his grip on your hair to pump you up and down his cock. You continue to work your tongue over him as he leads your movement, and before you run out of breath Sam pulls you off with a low grunt and a “Jesus.” 

He bends down and picks you up in a blur of movement, pressing you against his chest with one arm and hooking your leg around his waist with the other before spinning around and pinning you against the wall of the shower. It’s been running long enough now that the room is filled with steam, thick and suffocating, and the cold tiles against your back make your nipples harden against Sam’s chest. Sam kisses you hard, his jaw working to force your head back and mouth open so he can lick into you. 

“How do you _do_ that?” he practically growls into your mouth, and grinds against you. 

“ _Sam_ ” you plead, and squirm as much as his mass pinning you to the wall permits. You reach up and tug his wet hair, knowing that’s the fastest way to get him right where you want him. It works, and his hands on your slippery skin maneuver you so that he can sink into your swollen cunt in one thrust. It occurs to you that now that the sound of the shower means you can make noise and you take full advantage of that, arching against the wall and letting out a wanton moan when Sam delivers a particularly well-placed thrust. 

Sam’s pretty solidly braced against the side of the tub, but the position is still a bit too precarious for pronounced thrusting, so instead he nestles up against you and grinds, deep and dirty, dropping his head to bury it in the crook of your neck and pressing quiet, staccato moans into your skin. You clutch desperately at his shoulders, changing positions as your hands slip on his wet skin. Your bodies slide against each other, your nipples becoming tender from rubbing against Sam’s chest. 

Neither of you are going to last long, seeing as you’re both already strung out and over-sensitive, and Sam’s already getting that little huff at the end of each breath that means he’s close. Your panting breaths turn to whimpers when Sam shifts to holding you up with one arm, gets a hand between your bodies, and begins to work your clit with the knuckle of his middle finger. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise and you gasp Sam’s name while clenching tight around him and pulling him impossibly closer, which triggers Sam to follow you a few moment later, his breath coming out shuddery through clenched teeth against your shoulder. 

He pulls out and sets you down carefully, making sure you’re not going to slip before letting go of your waist and guiding you towards the stream of water. The two of you finish washing up silently, interspersed with a few affectionate shoulder-kisses and playful butt-smacks.  

When you’re drying off, you remark, “Hey, two rounds _and_ a run? We don’t have to work out for the rest of the week!”

Sam looks like he’s about to give you some sassy response but then you hear furious knocking coming from the bedroom door and Dean yelling “It’s almost two o’clock! We’re supposed to meet the coroner! What the hell have you two been doing in there?”

You and Sam exchange an amused glance. 

“You know what, don’t answer that. Just get dressed and get your asses out here!” This is followed by some incoherent disgruntled mumbling and the sound of Dean’s door slamming shut as he presumably goes to wait in the car. 

“We’re gonna be late,” Sam says as he’s pulling on a pair of pants. 

You shrug. “Worth it.”


End file.
